


some say poetry is a kind of magic

by delightwrites



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Arthur is soft, Friendship/Love, Idiots in Love, M/M, Mutual Pining, My First Work in This Fandom, Plot What Plot, Poetry, Sickfic, as in he is soft for Merlin, but that's not really relevant for the plot, i would die for these characters, only the first half tho, set between s5 ep3 and ep4
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-31
Updated: 2020-08-31
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:07:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26214583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/delightwrites/pseuds/delightwrites
Summary: "“Sire...”“I’d rather stay. For a while... If it’s no problem.”“Of course not, sire,” Gaius smiled. It was almost a knowing smile, and Arthur didn’t understand the reason for it.So Arthur stayed."-the king of camelot, his servant, a cold, a feast, and some poetry
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 136





	some say poetry is a kind of magic

**Author's Note:**

> getting into this fandom in the year of 2020??? just watch me

“Don’t leave your left side unguarded!” Arthur shouted at Elyan, before striking with his sword.

The next thing Merlin heard from Elyan was a painful “ _oof_ ” sound as the young knight fell over. Merlin tried to hide a chuckle (but didn’t really manage, as somewhere halfway through it turned into a cough).

The thing is, he liked watching Arthur train with the knights. The key word here not being _Arthur_ , no. Definitely not. The key word was _watching_. Because the moment Merlin had to stop watching and step on the training grounds to actually take part in the knights’ favourite bonding activity... now that’s when trouble usually started.

He was never good at these sorts of things. Of course, as a child he loved running around with the other kids of Ealdor, pretending the wooden sticks in their hands where swords, pretending they were a group of brave knights saving princesses - or princes, being saved by a group of fierce princesses - which kid didn’t? But Merlin was never meant for fighting. The hilt of a real sword never fit rightly in his hand, real armour and chainmail always seemed to hang awkwardly from his too-skinny shoulders.

(He could fight, when he needed to, when magic was too risky to use. That didn’t mean he knew what he was doing, even if Arthur tried to get him to learn.)

Oh and training always meant bruises and sore muscles, and probably tripping over his own foot at some point and falling down in the mud.

So really, Merlin preferred watching.

“Gwaine, you’re next,” Arthur ordered, spinning his blade. Gwaine shrugged and hopped down from the railing. Merlin pulled his jacket tighter around his shoulders, wondering if it was just him or today was really getting chillier.

As Arthur and Gwaine began circling around each other with their swords, Merlin pulled his attention back to the two of them. He watched Gwaine’s light steps, swift and ready to attack whenever, and then Arthur’s steady, grounded steps and the way his entire pose was focused on the coming fight, every muscle, every inch of his body.

And then Merlin sneezed.

The sudden noise took everyone by surprise. Everyone, especially Arthur, who snapped his head to the side (probably to glare at Merlin, but that’s something none of them would ever find out now). Gwaine used that split second to swipe Arthur’s feet from under him and the King of Camelot ended up - rather unceremoniously - on the ground.

“Merlin!” he shouted.

“Sorry,” said Merlin awkwardly.

“Bless you!” Gwaine grinned at him.

Arthur stood up and okay, now he was glaring. Not a good sign.

“Merlin, get the helmet and the shield, you’re up next,” he ordered. Merlin rolled his eyes. Great, now he had to go out there and play punching bag, and all for a sneeze. _Just great_.

He didn’t get to the point of playing punching bag.

The moment he raised the shield to protect himself from the coming strikes, a nasty coughing fit came over him and okay, maybe he _was_ right earlier when he said he was coming down with a cold (but he had little time to think about that in the past few days, with everything that’d been happening. _Everything_ in this case meaning the angry ghost of the former king haunting the castle and almost killing several people, including him.)

Someone called his name and he sounded... concerned. _Was it Arthur?_ Merlin couldn’t be sure.

“I’m fine, fine,” he tried to say at the same time as he tried to catch his breath between two coughs, which - as it turned out - wasn’t such a good idea. He doubled over in pain, dropping the shield, his lungs and his throat feeling like they weren’t even _his_ anymore they hurt so much.

There was a hand on his shoulder, holding him steady, and as the coughs began to fade he realised it was Gwaine’s. At one point someone took off his borrowed helmet and now it lay on the ground.

“I’m fine,” Merlin said as soon as he was able to speak at all. He straightened up and awkwardly tore himself away from Gwaine. “Thanks,” he muttered.

“That didn’t look fine.”

“It’s just a cold,” he argued and bent to pick up the shield and the helmet. Or he would have, if his head hadn’t suddenly gone all dizzy and his vision hadn’t blurred and his knees hadn’t given up under him.

“Merlin!” It was the second time Arthur yelled at him today, but weirdly enough, he didn’t sound angry this time.

He didn’t fall over, someone caught him before he could have hit the ground. Arthur slipped his shoulder under his arm to hold him up and struggled his gloves off to check his temperature.

“You have fever, you idiot,” he growled and Merlin realised he was indeed shivering. His whole body was cold, everything was cold.

Everything, except for where Arthur rested his palm against his forehead just now.

-

Merlin jolted awake with a gasp. He’d been looking worse and worse since they brought him back to Gaius, Arthur and all the knights crowding together in his tiny bedchamber as Percival lowered Merlin onto his bed.

He was covered in blankets and still shivering, sweat rolling down on his forehead as he kept tossing and turning under the covers.

“Fever dreams,” Gaius had told Arthur and Arthur nodded seriously as he sat next to Merlin’s bed, after the knights had gone to take up their duties.

Now it seemed the fever dreams were out and somewhere along the way they became fever _nightmares_. Now, just when Gaius was gone preparing some new remedy he remembered might help.

“Merlin,” Arthur said, leaning forward and grabbing Merlin’s shaking shoulders to keep him steady. “Merlin, it’s alright. You’re alright, we brought you back to Gaius.”

One of his hands cupped Merlin’s face, guiding him to look his way.

Merlin’s eyes finally found him. (They were hazy and his face was pale and Arthur would never admit it, but he hated seeing him like this.)

“A-Arthur?”

Arthur nodded. Then he opened his mouth to make a remark about Merlin’s incredible skills of observation, but realised this might not be the time.

“You’re alright?” Merlin struggled out the words, voice raspy and weak and barely above a whisper.

“The question here is whether _you_ are alright, Merlin,” said Arthur, rolling his eyes.

In that moment, the bedchamber’s door opened with a squeak and Gaius stepped in the room, a steaming cup in his hand. His face lit up when he saw his ward was awake.

“Merlin!” He shuffled closer, handing Merlin the cup. “How are you feeling?”

“Tired,” mumbled Merlin and took a sip. Gaius nodded.

“You should try and sleep, Merlin.”

When he finished, Merlin nodded weakly and gave Gaius back his now empty cup. He dropped his head back down on the pillow and fell asleep almost instantly. Arthur felt a pang of sadness - and perhaps, jealousy - in his heart as he watched Gaius shake his head fondly and pull the blanket up to Merlin’s shoulder.

“Will he be alright?” he asked.

“He just needs to rest, sire, that is all,” Gaius said.

Arthur nodded.

“Sire...”

“I’d rather stay. For a while... If it’s no problem.”

“Of course not, sire,” Gaius smiled. It was almost a _knowing_ smile, and Arthur didn’t understand the reason for it.

So Arthur stayed. He made himself as comfortable on the squeaky and rather small chair as it was humany possible, and waited. He knew he couldn’t stay for long. There were courtly matters to attend to, and there was training, and the ambassadors of Nemeth would arrive in a few days, which of course meant he should be organising a feast to welcome them. Still, he thought, a King certainly could take a few hours off.

He’d asked Elyan to tell Guinivere what happened and he knew she would understand. Gwen always did.

So he stayed.

-

He woke up briefly, from time to time.

The nightmares that plagued him earlier were gone and Merlin felt warm under the countless covers. And safe too, even if very, very tired.

There was a voice, someone staying by his bed. It was Arthur and at first Merlin thought he was speaking to him. Then he realised the words were familiar, too familiar.

Arthur was reading from one of his books. (He kept them all on his bedside table. Well, not exactly all. His book of magic was safely hidden under the floor tiles.)

But Arthur was reading. _Out loud_.

(Perhaps on purpose. Perhaps he was reading to him.)

-

Hours passed.

Arthur wasn’t bored, no. He passed time looking around Merlin’s tiny bedchamber and unintentionally planted just about every detail of it into his memory (and wasn’t that weird, how well Merlin must have known _his_ bedchamber already, when he didn’t know his servant’s at all?)

There was the cabinet with Merlin’s clothes, a couple of shirts and scarves went loose only piled on top of it, and there were the candles, molten wax dripped on the table, a wooden box left open with letters on poor parchment sticking out of it (Arthur didn’t need to read them to know most of them came from Merlin’s mother).

And there were the books on the bedside table. A history book about the times before the Great Purge, a book on various herbs and remedies most likely borrowed from Gaius and a small book with no title on its spine. Arthur picked it up curiously and flicked through the pages.

To his surprise, every page held a poem.

_Urgh_ , was Arthur’s first thought. _Merlin, really?_

According to his father a prince should be well-versed in everything, so Arthur _had_ learnt poetry as a child. Which included learning pages-long poems by heart, instead of getting to go and train outside and oh, how much he’d hated that.

But, he thought, there must have been a reason Merlin kept this book by his bed, right? Maybe these were different kinds of poems.

Curious, he picked the shortest one and read it.

_**Already rejoicing, I begin to love,** _

_**For I am made better by one who is, beyond dispute** _

_**The best a man ever saw or heard.** _

“Hmm,” Arthur said out loud and he thought of Guinivere. “Who knew you really were into poetry, huh, Merlin?”

Merlin didn’t hear him, of course. He was sleeping soundly, but Arthur knew what he would have answered. Definitely something along the lines of _there’s plenty things you don’t know about me, Arthur_ and he would laugh and Arthur would roll his eyes.

He smiled at the thought.

He kept reading. Time passed, his chair was uncomfortable but the room (and something inside Arthur’s chest) was warm and sometimes Arthur would glance up from the book to see Merlin still asleep.

And if sometimes, when he found a line or a whole poem that he liked and he read it out loud, to him... well, no one needed to know that.

Not even Merlin.

-

_**“So long a time has Love kept me a slave,”** _

Merlin stirred.

It was Arthur, reading. Merlin decided he didn’t want to open his eyes. If Arthur realised he was awake, he would definitely stop reading. Merlin didn’t want him to.

_**“And in his lordship fully seasoned me,** _

_**That even though at first I felt him harsh...** _

_**Now tender is his power in my heart.”** _

Arthur’s voice was quiet, almost soft.

“I like this one,” he mumbled absentmindedly and Merlin somehow knew he wasn’t looking at the book anymore. “Lend this book to me one day, would you?”

Merlin couldn’t believe his ears.

_I would_ , he thought.

But he kept quiet, not wanting to risk Arthur stopping. (Not wanting to risk that warm feeling in his chest that he felt arise time and time again, vanishing.)

So he kept quiet.

And Arthur kept reading.

-

“Our allies from Nemeth,” said Arthur. “Welcome to Camelot!”

“Thank you, your highness,” bowed the first ambassador, a tall woman in long, elaborate robes, formally. “King Rodor sends his regards to you and Queen Guinivere.”

“Thank you,” Gwen smiled, a sudden blush of red on her face. (She was still caught by surprise sometimes at her formal title. Arthur thought it was adorable.) “You must be tired after the long journey, I’ll have you shown to your chambers.”

The guests nodded gratefully and headed for the doors. Arthur caught Gwen’s hand and gave it a squeeze.

“They seem polite enough,” he whispered to her. “You can handle them, right?”

Gwen raised and eyebrow and gave him a look. The look was very serious and it said _of course I can handle them, who do you think me for?_

Arthur huffed softly and Gwen finally let go of her pretended seriousness and laughed. There was a glint in her eyes and Arthur was so in love with her.

“Go, see how Merlin’s doing,” Gwen said with a smile and squeezed his hand back. “Tell him I said hi.”

“Of course,” Arthur quickly planted a kiss on her forehead. “Thank you Guinivere.”

-

“Here, drink this,” said Gaius and placed yet another cup of steaming _something_ in front of him on the table. Seeing Merlin’s frown, he shook his head exasperatedly. “It’s just tea, Merlin.”

Merlin sighed and took the cup in his hand. The tea was scorching hot, but certainly better tasting than most of Gaius’s medicines.

“Thanks, Gaius.”

“How are you feeling today?”

“Good! Though sometimes I still need to-” he sniffled and then sneezed, almost spilling all the tea that was still left in the cup. “Sneeze. That’s what I wanted to say.”

There was a knock on the door. Gaius stood up to answer it.

“Must be Arthur,” he said.

“Arthur?” Merlin asked and he stood up from the table, though he wasn’t sure why.

It really was Arthur in the doorway, his ceremonial clothes on for some reason. (The ambassadors of Nemeth were the reason, of course, but don’t blame Merlin if he forgot they were supposed to arrive today, alright?)

“Sire,” greeted him Gaius.

“Thank you Gaius, I just came to-” That’s when he saw Merlin, standing awkwardly next to the table, and his face lit up. “Merlin!”

The King of Camelot marched over to him and before Merlin could think twice, he was pulled into a hug. Merlin returned the hug without a second thought and they stayed like that, if only for a few brief seconds, before both of them realised just what they were doing and pulled away from each other.

Still, there was that warm feeling in Merlin’s chest again and it felt like it didn’t plan on leaving anytime soon.

“ _Ahem_ ,” Arthur stepped back. “Guinivere says hi, Merlin.”

Merlin nodded. “Thank you, sire... Tell her I said hi?”

“Yes,” Arthur nodded too. “I will.”

“So,” Merlin smiled, because what better opportunity to bring this up than now, when Arthur was already... well, if Merlin didn’t know him he’d say Arthur was _flustered_. “I heard you stayed by my bed for a while.”

Arthur’s eyes widened. Merlin really wished he could read his thoughts right now, but his expression was already ridiculous enough.

“You heard?”

“Gaius told me.”

Arthur nodded, then he frowned.

“The welcome feast for the ambassadors of Nemeth is tonight, I thought you could come help me, but...” With an _obviously fake_ worry on his face, Arthur raised a hand to Merlin’s forehead and jokingly asked, “How are you feeling? Are you sure you don’t want another day off?”

Merlin raised an eyebrow. He knew this tone.

“I know you’re joking, Arthur.”

“Fine, your choice,” he shrugged and turned towards the door. “You could start by scrubbing my boots and cleaning my clothes for the feast.”

_Wait..._

“Oh, and my armour needs polishing,” Arthur said, turning back one last time before disappearing behind the door.

“Wait, Arthur!” Merlin yelled after him as he realised his mistake. “That’s not what I meant! I do want a day off!”

“Sorry, Merlin, it’s too late for that now!” Arthur’s laugh could be heard from the corridor.

-

“Here,” Merlin mumbled under his breath while fixing Arthur’s cape on his shoulders. “Now you look good...” He made a funny face at this. “Or at least ready for the feast, you know.”

He flashed a smile at Arthur. The prince raised an eyebrow exasperatedly, partly because he somehow wasn’t in the mood for yet another feast and Merlin’s joking tone was definitely not going to help that, and partly because he only now realised that Merlin himself didn’t look ready for the occasion at all. His scarf looked askew, not to mention his hair sticking up in a ridiculous way on the right side - probably because of how he slept, but really, _has he looked like this all day?_ Arthur didn’t even notice.

“Wait.” He stepped closer, carefully raising his hand to fix Merlin’s scarf. Merlin froze and stared at Arthur with wide eyes.

“Your scarf was... off,” the King said, then grimaced and took half a step back to examine the result. “It’s good now, you look g-... acceptable.”

“ _Acceptable_?” Merlin frowned. “You know, Arthur, that almost sounded like a compliment.”

And now he had that mischievious smile - no, grin - on, that he usually got reserved for pulling pranks with the knights and teasing Arthur. For example about how much he enjoyed being complimented by him, _which only ever happened a few times and always by accident, okay?_

“Can’t have my servant running around looking like an idiot... ” Arthur grunted.

“Sure you can’t,” Merlin said in a teasing tone and Arthur was really, really starting to regret all this.

He didn’t fix Merlin’s hair - which might have made him look more of an idiot, really. He knew the knights would definitely point it out, along with several teasing comments and hey, Merlin deserved that, especially after making fun of him just now.

_And besides_ , the thought passed Arthur’s mind unexpectedly, _it was a good look on him_.

-

“Merlin!” The knights greeted him in unision and laughed. Gwen said hi in person and Gwaine made a remark - which Merlin barely understood, as Gwaine’s mouth was pretty much full of food the whole time - about how his hair was sticking up on one side, which just resulted in Percival ruffling his hair. It must have looked like a bird’s nest by now.

Merlin shook his head, laughing, and attempted to fix his hair before taking his place behind Arthur’s seat. He fixed his scarf too, once, twice again, remembering how close Arthur had stood to him when he did it.

The ambassadors of Nemeth seemed to be having a great time. They chatted with Arthur and the knights and - after a few goblets of wine - complimented just about everything in Camelot, from the view from the palace windows, through the helpfulness of the servants, to the beauty of the Queen.

“Your King is a lucky man,” said the first ambassador to the knights. “Queen Guinivere’s beauty must be a subject to poets all around your country.”

“Oh, it must be,” Sir Leon said, nodding politely. “Though the King himself is a fan of poetry as well.”

“Is that so, my lord?” The ambassador turned to Arthur.

Arthur froze and dropped his spoon into the bowl of stew in front of him, while Gwen turned to him with confusion written all over here face.

“I’m not, not really,” Arthur said and fished out his spoon from the stew. “Merlin here, he’s the expert at poetry.”

It was Merlin’s turn to almost drop the picther of wine he was holding.

Arthur gestured to him to step closer.

“You read so many poems, Merlin, you must know at least one by heart. Why not tell us?”

Merlin gulped.

“Oh please! Merlin, is that right?” the ambassador leaned closer. “Just one poem... perhaps one about love, so we can all drink to the happiness of the King and Queen after it!”

If this is how Arthur was trying to get back at him for telling Leon they were learning poetry... (Which was, okay, objectively a rubbish excuse for being found out in the castle hallways in the middle of the night, but that’s beside the point.)

On the other hand, reciting a poem was so much easier than juggling, he could even do that without magic.

It wasn’t a big deal.

Merlin put down the pitcher and straightened his back, nodding to Arthur.

He did know a poem, one about love...

Arthur raised his hand to ask for everyone to listen. The great hall went quiet.

Merlin took a breath.

“ _ **Every one of my thoughts speaks of Love,**_ ” he started quietly, looking over to Arthur and Gwen.

_**And they have in them such great variance,** _

_**That one makes me wish for his ruler-ship,** _

_**Another claims that his worth is nothing,** _

**Another by hoping brings me sweetness...** ”

Gwen smiled at him encouragingly and grabbed Arthur’s hand at the same time.

“ ** _Another makes me weep constantly,_**

_**And they only agree in asking pity,** _

_**Trembling with the fear that is in the heart.**_ ”

From the corner of his eye, Merlin saw the ambassador sniffle into the sleeve of her robe and Gwaine take a sip of his wine. But only from the corner of his eye.

He was watching Arthur.

Arthur, who said nothing, did nothing, just listened.

“ ** _Therefore I do not know which theme to choose,_** ” Merlin went on.

“ ** _And wish to speak, and know not what to say:_**

**_So that I find myself..._** ” He thought of that warm feeling in his chest he felt earlier. And curiously, he thought of Arthur embracing him. And fixing his scarf. And reading by his bed. “ ** _... i_** _ **n a lover’s maze.**_ ”

-

Someone started clapping, though Arthur didn’t know who it was. Then the whole room erupted in applause, cheers and toasts were said to the good health and happiness and long-lasting love of him and Guinivere.

Arthur drank with all of his well-wishers and the feast continued. People went back to celebrating the alliance of Camelot and Nemeth, the peace that ruled over their lands after a long time of war.

The feast continued and soon, they all forgot about the poem, and about the serving boy who told it.

But Arthur didn’t.

**Author's Note:**

> here it is, i hope you enjoyed!!  
> kudos and comments especially give me life!
> 
> find me on tumblr @sky-mage (but don't write me any spoilers to the end of the show, i haven't finished yet)
> 
> -
> 
> about the poems:  
> the first one is by Guilhem of Aquitaine, second one by Dante (from La Vita Nouva) and third one also by Dante (Tutti li mei penser).  
> now please, don't come at me how these are historically inaccurate, since these poets were alive much later than Arthurian England. i know. the show canon itself is full of historical inaccuracies, in fact every Arthurian myth is full of them, since they were written down at a much later date, around the 12-13th century. which is also the time where these poems were written, so i think it's alright.  
> basically i just searched for medieval love poems and picked the ones with the least she/her pronouns and the greatest amount of yearning ^^


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